Holt's Gamble (33 page)

"I can't seem to locate my wife and there's something I need to do. It won't bear waiting. Would you see if you can find her and tell her I'll be back as soon as I can?"

"Certainly," she replied agreeably, "but where shall I tell her you went?"

Clay was already moving toward his tethered horse. "Just tell her I went out to have a talk with the soldiers who left earlier," he called, already back-pedaling toward his tethered horse. He could only hope Kierin would understand. "And, Mrs. Thorp," he added with a forced smile, "tell her not to worry."

* * *

"Miss McKendry, are you all right?" the registrar sergeant asked. "Maybe you should sit down."

The blood had siphoned from Kierin's face and she swayed against the counter. The sergeant hurried around the barricade and helped her to the bench beside the door.

"A-are you sure there's no mistake?" Her voice sounded small and far away. Shock stripped her of tears and she sat rigid as a church pew, staring blankly ahead of her.

He squatted down in front of her. "Sure as anyone can be, ma'am."

Her gaze slid to his. "Wh-what do you mean?"

He dropped his chin to his chest and heaved a long sigh. "Just that most of the bodies were recovered and buried, but some were never found. Considering the time that'd passed, it'd be pretty nigh impossible to make any kind of... identification."

"But my brother was just a boy," she said, grasping at the small remaining hope. "Did they find any bodies of children?"

"It wasn't in the report we got back, ma'am. But from the records, there were several families with children along."

She pressed her steepled fingers against her lips. "I see. Well," she said, clearing her throat, "thank you for all your help, Sergeant." Standing stiffly, she edged toward the door.

He rose beside her, concern etched on his face. "Are you sure you're all right, miss?"

"Yes, I'll-I'll be fine," she answered, letting herself out the door. The little bell jangled again, just as it had before, yet this time the sound was more ominous, final.

She closed the door behind her and leaned against the jamb, hand to throat, gulping air.

"Why, there you are, Mrs. Holt."

Kierin's eyes flew open at the sound of a woman's voice. Susan Thorp was staring at her strangely.

"I've been looking all over for you." she said. "Good heavens, dear, are you all right? You're pale as ashes."

Kierin pushed away from the wall. "I... I have to find Clay."

"Well, that's what I came to tell you. He had to leave and he asked if I'd find you."

Kierin blinked at her. "What? He left? When?"

"About five minutes ago. He said not to worry... that he needed to talk with some soldiers... or something like that, and that he'd be back soon. I assumed you'd know what he meant."

"Oh, no..." What little color she had left fled Kierin's face. Her gaze snapped to the spot where they'd tethered his horse. Another stood in its place. With a sinking feeling, she realized it was true. Dizziness assailed her and she leaned back against the jamb for support.

"Mrs. Holt, is everything all right?" she heard Susan ask.

A cold dread fingered up her spine. This couldn't be happening. She wouldn't let it. Strangely, her desperation gave her courage.

"Kierin?"

Leaving Susan staring after her, she strode up the walkway to the commander's office. Her heels beat an angry rhythm against the wooden boards. She flung open the office door, startling both the young private and the lieutenant behind the desk. They stared at her in open-mouthed silence.

"I want to know where my husband has gone, Lieutenant, and I want to know now," she demanded.

The lieutenant looked at her as if she were touched in the head. "Madam, I don't know who your husband
is,
but-"

"Clay Holt."

The name erased Fleming's smug expression.

"He just rode off after your troops—"

"He
what?"
Fleming sputtered.

"And you're going to tell me why."

* * *

Wisps of fog, like ghostly fingers, slunk along the shoreline of the Platte, and obscuring the fort's view of the river's glassy surface. The rising three-quarter moon—alternately cloaked behind fast-moving clouds then gilding their leaden edges silver—gave testament to the lateness of the hour.

Heartsick, Kierin sat watching the blue flame dance above a nest of coals at the center of the fire. Waiting. The warmth of the fire taunted her, but it was unable to quell the chill that had settled like a fist of ice around her heart.

Her talk with Lieutenant Fleming had proved to be both pointless and frustrating. Refusing to spare any more men from the post, Fleming told her it had been Clay's choice to follow the detachment and that he had no intention of stopping him.

For one desperate moment, she'd thought of stealing Jacob's horse and riding to find him herself, but stopped short of doing it. He was a grown man who had made a choice of conscience. His sense of honor, the very thing that had impelled him to follow the soldiers, was also the thing she loved most about him. She could only wait. And pray.

She had not told anyone what she'd learned about her father and brother. She couldn't bear to give voice to something her heart still could not accept. All these months... wouldn't she have known if her brother were dead? Could God be so cruel as to take away both the people she loved in the same day?

Beside her, Jim Kelly refilled Jacob's tin mug of coffee and gestured the pot toward her, breaking the long silence that had stretched between them. "Coffee, Kierin?"

She shook her head.

"You oughta put something in your stomach. You haven't eaten all day."

The thought of coffee made her nauseous. "I'm not hungry, Jim. Thanks, anyway."

The orange-red light of the fire cast flickering shadows on the faces of her companions. Little Ben whimpered in his mother's arms. Cooing to the babe, Dove shifted her garments and tucked him inside to give him suckle. Only a tiny coppery fist showed beneath the blanket and he made small gurgling noises of satisfaction as Dove's milk let down. Jacob looked on with something in his eyes akin to awe.

The fort was quiet, despite the numbers within its gates. Trappers, soldiers, and travelers mingled inside the stockade, waiting for the return of the overdue soldiers. Word had spread quickly. Reverend Beaker had held a small prayer service for the men and now sat around another fire with the Thorps, the Watkinses, and several other families. Parents spread sleeping rolls on the ground for their sleepy children. It had been too long and everyone knew it.

"Someone's coming, Lieutenant," shouted the man on watch in the south turret.

Lieutenant Fleming, who was keeping watch with the men on the north side of the fort, made for the rough wooden ladder which led down to the courtyard. "Is he mounted or on foot?" he called.

"On foot, sir. He looks to be wounded."

Kierin closed her eyes and inhaled sharply.

"Jenkins! OHalloran!" Fleming called. "See to that man and help him in. Watch yourselves."

The two men disappeared into the darkness. Minutes dragged by and finally they reappeared with the wounded man slung between them. His head drooped down between his shoulders, his dark hair obscuring his face. When they eased him down near the fire, Kierin finally got a good look at him. Her heart sank.

It wasn't Clay.

She wasn't sure whether to be grateful or disappointed. The man had been shot with arrows. One broken-off shaft protruded from his shoulder and another from his thigh. The gold stripe down the leg of his trousers was stained a deep crimson. That the man had made it this far on foot was a miracle.

"Get the surgeon over here, on the double," Fleming called as he knelt down beside the man. The lieutenant's horrified gaze scanned the ruined body of the soldier. "Cuddy, what in the hell happened?"

Cuddy opened his eyes with an effort. "They're dead, sir... all of 'em."

Fleming dropped his face into his hand. "Good God..."

"The place wuz crawlin' with Sioux," Cuddy continued, pain slurring his words, "hundreds of'em, all over us like ants... couldn't... get away."

"Grattan?"

"Dead."

"But... what happened?"

"That Frenchman, the interpreter, Auguste... was drunk. Kept shoutin' insults at 'em in Sioux. The traders up the river warned Grattan to get him out of there... didn't listen... got them redskins all worked up. Grattan wouldn't stop, even when they come out with war paint on." Cuddy moaned and fingered the arrow in his shoulder. "Said he'd... take High Forehead or... die tryin'. The Sioux wouldn't give him up..."

Kierin dropped to her knees beside him. Her eyes felt raw with held-back tears. "My husband—did you see him, Private?"

Cuddy blinked, trying to refocus on her.

"Clay Holt," she insisted. "He rode out to meet you."

"Yeah," Cuddy told her, letting his eyes slide shut with exhaustion. "He tried to talk sense to the Lieutenant... didn't help." He was slipping into unconsciousness.

Desperate, Kierin shook the man. "Private! What happened to him? You have to tell me!"

Muddled by the pain, Cuddy shook his head. "Didn't see him after the fightin' started. But all of 'em wuz dead... ever' one... but... me."

The army surgeon arrived and knelt down beside Private Cuddy, nudging Kierin aside. She staggered to her feet. Shock settled like a heavy snow on her limbs, making her movements dull and spasmodic.
Clay dead? It's not possible. It can't be.
She shouldered past the crowd near Cuddy and took two faltering steps toward the gate.
I'll go find him myself,
she thought in a daze.
He's not dead. He's out there somewhere...

But the night seemed to close in on her. Past the crowds, a spot of blackness grew in an ever-widening circle, engulfing first the gates, then the people, and finally, Kierin herself. As the ground tilted up crazily to meet her, she gave herself over to the tumbling black void of oblivion and forgetfulness.

Chapter 17

"I'm coming with you," Kierin said unequivocally, matching Jacob's angry stride, step for step.

Jacob shook his head, his lips compressed in a stubborn line. "No you ain't." He didn't even look at her when he said it. Just kept walking. Dawn had cut a swath of pink across the dark morning sky, lighting their way.

"You can't make me stay behind," she called after him. "I'll take a horse. I'll follow you."

Jacob stopped in his tracks and grabbed her by the shoulders. "I think that faintin' spell addled your brains, woman. You gots any idea what be out there? You ever see'd what a Indian do to a white man after he kills him?"

She faltered back a step, but he kept talking.

"You ever smell a body ripenin' in the sun, or see the buzzard's helpin' themselves to a man's eyes? Is that what you wants to see?
Death?
'Cause that's what's out there."

"No," she answered in a small voice. "I... just want to find Clay."

"And what if he's out there wid the others? That how you wants to remember him?" Jacob's eyes softened after he'd said it and he bowed his head. "Stay here, Kierin. If Clay's out there alive, I'll be findin' him. I promise you that." Jacob turned on his heel and strode off to meet the others.

Tears of frustration leaked from the corners of her eyes, but she capitulated. Watching Jacob ride off with the others, Kierin felt a helplessness well deep inside her. And even though he was going to search for Clay, she knew Jacob felt it, too. She looked on until the patrol of men became specks on the horizon. When she turned, she found Dove, with little Ben, standing silently at her shoulder.

"Oh, Dove..." Kierin dropped her forehead to the other woman's shoulder.

"Hatdka mitawa,"
she whispered, wrapping her free arm around her. "My sister, it is in the hands of the All Father. We know only this."

Kierin glanced over her shoulder at the disappearing men, remembering only that she had once entrusted her brother to the same merciful God.